


Kiss With a Fist

by nervous_witch



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, so watch out for that, there will be some homophobic/gendered slurs because this is mickey milkovich, tw drug and alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervous_witch/pseuds/nervous_witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of gallavich drabbles, not following a particular timeline, pretty negligent towards canon, various song-inspired</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i was falling deep, deeply in love with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SerpaSas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpaSas/gifts).



> [home -edward sharpe & the magnetic zeroes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHEOF_rcND8)

So maybe Mickey's secretly a little bitch -- he loves making Ian breakfast. Say one word about it and he'll put you in the ground, okay? There's nothing that makes him happier than Ian's happiness and how the hell did it end up here anyway? It was a quick fuck in the cooler a few short years ago and now he _cares_ about the guy, go figure, but honestly, he doesn't mind too much. The sex is incredible, okay, and the conversation isn't that bad, really.

So he wakes up way too fuckin' early and starts beating some pancake batter, pouring a cup of tap water into the coffee machine and turning it on. Eggs, flour, butter, and he's getting some on his shirt but he doesn't care because Ian loves pancakes and -- and Mickey does too, okay? Flips them on the frying pan, loads a stack onto a chipped plate and pours two mugs of burnt coffee, makes his way back to his room where Ian's spread-eagled in a pair of old sweatpants and nothing else.

Mickey sets the stupid breakfast on a pile of CDs on the side table and crawls next to Ian, pulling the ratty quilt over them both and tracing little patterns on Ian's sternum, his fingers dirty and greasy against the fine hair dusting his pectorals. Doesn't even notice Ian cracking an eye open to watch him, he's so intent on crossing a t in a secret message, Ian smiles softly and it's only when he hums that Mickey notices he's awake and jumps back, bringing his fingers away like he's been burned and Ian frowns and Mickey freezes because he probably crossed a line, until Ian wraps his big hand around Mickey's tattooed fingers and brings them back to his chest, giving them a little pat and closing his eyes again.

Mickey smiles and doesn't even care that their coffee's getting cold, he's so _happy_ with him here.


	2. before you say something real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where mickey is a baker B|  
> tell me the vaccines dont completely perfectly fit baker!mickey and ill show you the door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i always knew -the vaccines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84no_HITKFo)

Mickey works at a bakery and he's a real dick about it, too, his love of pastries be damned - he's a hood boy after all, slamming the oven door on a new batch of croissants,

"Yeah yeah, lady, they'll be ready when they're ready" until the new milk delivery boy walks in, all red hair and biceps and Mickey's totally unprepared, makes up for his taken-aback-ness by being even meaner to the guy than he is to the other patrons -- of course, Ian, as it turns out his name is, is totally fuckin' charmed by this and finds stupid reasons to come back:

"Didn't get the whole milk order this morning, here's the rest"

"Saw these mini pies last time I was here, had to try them!"

"What's baking back there anyway? Can I try one?" Mickey pushes him away and away and away because he's not _gay_ , damn it, but Ian won't let it go, and one day one of the three other employees of the bakery quits abruptly and elopes with her stupid fucking boyfriend and Ian comes in and says he was looking for a new job and couldn't help but notice the help wanted sign in the window, is there a position available? Mickey has to give it to him of course, and the ginger's fuckin' _clueless_ so Mickey's spending all his goddamn free time directing his big hands around;

"No, asshat, three cups of _flour_ , not fuckin' olive oil, can you read?"

"This is for _raspberry_ tarts, you little bitch, can you do anything right?" Ian gets so fed up one day, having taken Mickey's corrections with sly smiles and dutiful nods up 'til now, he just reels Mickey in by the front of his shirt and presses their lips together, the asshole doesn't seem to care that there's flour everywhere damn it Mickey's going to be picking it out of his hair for days where Ian's running his fingers through it, but Mickey doesn't really mind either.


	3. you spin my sorrow into silk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [silk -giselle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWzPLZRVpSQ)

It's a fall afternoon, when it's cold enough that the leaves are changing colours but warm enough that you could walk around in shorts before dinner. They're sitting on the floor of Mickey's room, they pushed his bed to the wall to clear up some space on the dirty old carpet, a bong next to them and dust motes floating in the sun beams.

It's almost cheesy, like out of a fuckin' movie or something, Mickey's head on Ian's thighs and Ian tips his own head back and opens his mouth wide and laughs that funny laugh of his, something stupid Mickey said, and time seems to freeze when Ian looks back down at the boy in his lap, they're both grinning and their eyes are bloodshot and slitted almost-shut and they're so _happy_ , right here.


	4. lovers at last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i will possess your heart -death cab for cutie ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsCV61zsdtA)

Terry's in overnight holding again, the rest of the Milkovich boys have fucked off to who-knows-where and Mandy’s with Lip somewhere, so Mickey'd told Ian to come over when he was done his shift, and he was getting kind of antsy. It's way past closing, and it's not that long a walk, and had he pushed too hard maybe? Ian can only stand so much of him at a time maybe? He tells himself he doesn’t care and lights a joint, the embers burn red like Ian's hair and fuck, he's whipped, isn't he?

The doorbell rings and he stamps it out in an ashtray, swings the door open (it creaks) to reveal a grinning Ian, and Mickey's heart maybe stops a little (he's so fucking gay). Ian's got a hand hidden behind his back and Mickey gestures him in;

"Gallagher, you just gonna stand there or what?" Ian crosses the threshold and toes off his sneakers, kicks them into the pile of shoes beside the entry, and Mickey lets the door fall closed, leads the way to the living room and is about to collapse into the old couch when Ian clears his throat.

Mickey raises an eyebrow and turns; "You some kind of --" and stops, because Ian's -- Ian's -- holding a bouquet? of flowers? extended towards Mickey?

"Here," Ian says, looking at his sock feet (his big toe peeks out of a hole) and Mickey can't even form coherent thought.

"You..." he tries, "You fuckin' bought me flowers?" Ian shrugs and shakes the bouquet a little; here take them, and Mickey stumbles forward and grabs them; "you're such a fuckin' _faggot_ " and Christ on a cracker he actually sounds fond, he brings a finger up to trace a petal, his heart is maybe beating really fast and it's kind of deafening and he hopes to god Ian can't hear --

"Are they okay?" Ian asks, almost _shy_ , and Mickey looks at him sharply;

"People could get the wrong idea, the fuck were you thinking? Coming to my house with _flowers?_ "

"They could have been for Mandy" Ian says, indignant, and Mickey maybe kind of loves the stupid redhead.


	5. we're speaking in bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [settle down -the 1975](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfvUDLvtRFE)

They're in the old van behind Gallagher's house, and it's _really_ grossly warm with the doors closed and no air conditioning, and it's kind of hard to breathe through the mist of pot smoke, they're hot-boxing the van and it's obviously working, Ian's eyes are crinkly and his grin is wide and he's telling some fuckin' story about the stars, how some constellation was made, says Lip went through an astronomy phase and if _Ian_ had to listen to it, and Mickey doesn't give a shit about how the lion developed that tuft of hair on the tip of its tail, but he'll listen to anything Ian wants to talk about just for the sake of hearing Ian talk.

Mickey's gaze slips from Ian's eyes to his mouth, and watches words form on his tongue, how the language creates itself between the purse of his lips and sound makes its way around his teeth, his jaw clenching as he struggles to find what he's going to say next, Mickey's so fuckin' _captivated_ just staring at him, his teeth are kind of set to the left and Mickey wants to count the freckles dotting his nose -- Jesus, he's baked for sure. He watches Ian take another hit off their -- what, third? fourth? joint, and he giggles and the smoke curls out of his smile and into the space between them, and when did Mickey move so close?

Ian meets his eyes and raises an eyebrow, sucks the joint so slow, his cheeks hollow and _that's_ pretty obscene, Mickey watches aptly and Ian holds the smoke in his throat, parts his lips and Mickey mimics him and Ian's big hand wraps around the back of Mickey's skull and pulls him close and their lips meet, the barest of contact and Ian's breathing out, forcing Mickey to breathe in as slowly as he can, accepts the smoke, swallows around it, and doesn't let Ian back away when the hit's been transferred, holds his breath and changes the angle of their lips, closes his around Ian's and they're kissing.

Mickey blows the smoke out his nose, traces the seam of Ian's mouth with his tongue and Ian opens wide, Mickey maps the roof of his mouth and the backs of his teeth, charts the veins under Ian's tongue, gets so fuckin' lost in it he forgets to breathe until Ian grips his shoulders harder, whispers the instruction: " _breathe_ " around his tongue and Mickey sucks in smoke, fills his aching lungs, they're sharing breaths and doing nothing to ebb the high.

The sun starts to set, dust motes barely visible through the patterns the smoke creates in the air, the leather seats stick to them both, their shirts are damp with sweat and Mickey decides it's perfect.


	6. i never dreamed that i'd meet somebody like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where they move away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [wicked game -phillip phillips](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grqrlGwoOU0)

Ian finally saves up enough to put down a payment on a one-room shoebox in New York, it's ugly and cramped but it's safe, it's away, he convinces Mickey to leave with him, a few months after they move in they go to a little diner for pancakes and coffee and the waitress keeps the refills coming maybe, Mickey suspects, only to look at Ian a little more and he doesn't blame her, just burns a little with jealousy because she's pretty and Mickey's _Mickey_ , the area's liberal enough that nobody thinks twice when Ian grabs his hand and folds their fingers together, the waitress' gaze lingers a bit but she smiles and ambers on -- to them of course it's huge, they're used to flinching away from physical contact anywhere but their locked respective bedrooms, but they're kind of free now, and it's nice.

Ian lands a respectable job a few blocks away, he bar tends for a classy place and Mickey comes in to visit sometimes, the other tappers laugh and tell him oh, _you're_ this Mickey we've heard so much about, Ian blushes and Mickey grunts around his beer, doesn't smile, no he _doesn't_ , and Mickey's still searching the job ads in the paper for something that doesn't make him cringe at the idea of a normal white bread community, _seriously Ian this is our life now_ , and when they fuck they don't have to be quiet, Ian tells him he loves him, loudly, and Mickey comes just like that, the sun filters through the curtains that aren't shut all the way because they don't have to be afraid anymore, and Mickey still doesn't think he deserves this, he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Ian tells him he'll spend every day for the rest of forever convincing him he's worthy of something amazing.


	7. for the vagabonds, ne'er-do-wells, and insufferable bastards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this is gospel -panic! at the disco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGE381tbQa8)

Ian makes him tag along, this spot under the L that Lip told him about -- secluded, kind of, and quiet when there isn't a train above them. Ian lays out an old blanket and Mickey shoots his mouth about how _gay_ this all is, how Ian's such a _queer_ , and Ian just grins and pulls a rum bottle wrapped in paper out of his backpack, and that shuts Mickey right up.

Ian sinks onto the blanket, which frankly does jack-shit to make his ass more comfortable or less cold, and Mickey sits next to him, a few inches of space between them and Ian does his best not to care about that very much, passes Mickey the bottle and laughs as a train comes roaring towards, and over them, it's so _loud_ he thinks he could scream and no-one would hear him so he just laughs, looks over at Mickey to find him already looking back at him, the tiniest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth -- not that Ian's looking at his mouth, and Ian laughs some more, facing the tracks.

The train speeds away, leaving Ian's ears ringing, and he turns to tell Mickey how _awesome_ that was and Mickey's way closer than he'd anticipated, close enough to kiss, almost, but Ian would _never_ , they're in _public_ , and Mickey seems to remember this and jerks away, taking another long swig of the liquor.

Ian huffs a small sigh and grabs the bottle, deciding he's definitely not drunk enough for this, and another train turns the bend and chugs above them, it's _deafening_ and Ian lies back, almost dizzy with how fast the wheels above him turn.

Before he can blink it's off and away and he can breathe again, passes the bottle to Mickey who looks surreptitiously around, finds them completely alone, and gulps down probably half what's left of the rum before he bends down and, quick as you please, presses his lips to Ian's, setting the bottle next to Ian's head and leans away, wraps his forearms around his knees and tips his head back to watch another train clamber above them, and Ian laughs.


	8. it's better this time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i would do anything for you -foster the people](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ud47hORAp-Y)

They’re sitting on the back porch of the Gallaghers’ ruddy house, collection of empty beer cans on a stair up and a half-empty can each clasped in sweaty palms. It’s early enough, Ian thinks around five maybe, they’d been up all night, that no-one else is around, cold enough too, it’s late September, that they’re pretty much isolated. Ian’s stretched up and over, leaning on the hand currently not holding his beer, licking a path down Mickey’s neck from his ear to his collarbone, visible through the old wife-beater he’s wearing, he’s got gooseflesh but he doesn’t complain about being cold.

Ian thinks it could be snowing a blizzard, Mickey in shorts and sandals, and he still wouldn’t complain about being cold.

Ian latches his teeth onto a piece of skin, next to Mickey’s jugular, and sucks, bites, and swaths his tongue over the already purpling mark. Mickey shudders and still doesn’t say anything, until “Hey!” and Ian backs off but Mickey’s already putting down his beer, already up, stumbling down the stairs, and Ian’s going to apologize or call him back until he sees what Mickey’s after, it’s this skinny little black cat, huddled in on itself, its fur is matted and Mickey bends down, Ian thinks his heart’s going to explode, Mickey bends down and picks the cat up, mewing pitifully, Mickey holds it close to his chest, wraps his little hands around it and the cat starts scenting him, rubbing its head along Mickey’s chin and Ian wants to take a picture, maybe, or cry.

Mickey walks back up the stairs and takes his seat next to Ian and turns to him, Ian’s kind of caught up in the blue of eyes but he still hears Mickey ask if he has a brush or some food and Ian says sure he does, trips on his way into the back door and hunts around the living room for a while. Debbie has this old Barbie brush, plastic-bristled, and Ian grabs it, grabs a can of salmon from the cupboard and digs around for a can-opener. He makes his way outside, letting the screen door slam shut on its own, and the cat is kneading its tiny paws into Mickey’s old jeans and it lies down on his thighs.

Ian sighs a little and Mickey holds his hand out for the brush, which Ian relinquishes and he sits next to him, holding the can of fish under the cat’s nose and it starts eating right away, gorging itself you’d think it had never seen food before. Mickey runs the toy brush through the cat’s fur, catching on some knots but he’s so gentle, scratching behind the cat’s black ears with tattooed fingers as he grooms it. Ian rests his head on Mickey’s shoulder and Mickey squirms a little but doesn’t push him off and Ian presses a kiss wherever he can reach, the little dip between Mickey’s bicep and shoulder, and Mickey snorts kind of, keeps running the brush through the dirty fur until it doesn’t catch on anything else, Ian holds the salmon under its mouth until there’s nothing left and it falls asleep, and the boys sit there until early-morning Chicago wakes, and they move back inside.


	9. jealousy, turning saints into the seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: rape mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [mr brightside -the killers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8bUL0EKuHw)

Ian slams his bedroom door, angry tears pushing their way out his glassy eyes, trips over a fucking hammer Carl left lying around, punches the wall next to the dresser and shouts a curse when he feels his fingers crack, he thinks he might have broken one, maybe, and wouldn’t that just be peachy? He probably deserves it, too, the one boy he thought he could have really loved clearly doesn’t want him, clearly only used him for a fuck, so he’s clearly not good for much.

He wants to scream but that probably wouldn't do anyone any good, so he lies down, pulls the rumpled quilt back and over himself, pushes his face into the wrinkled pillow and cries, really really cries. When he’s run out of energy it’s dark, and he stares at the wall and his eyes _hurt_ , they’re dry, and he has a headache, and he wishes he were dead. He thinks about Mickey with Svetlana, thinks about his tattooed fingers tracing her spine and his warm mouth on hers, on her cunt, her mouth on him, all over him, and even though Mickey’d been kind enough to pity-fuck him in the back room, that doesn’t mean he’ll ever want to do it again, it was a good-bye and Mickey’s moved on, and Ian should too but he can’t, can’t stop thinking about her and Mickey’s _kid_ , Mickey’s going to be a _dad_ and not with Ian, no-one will ever love Ian again probably, and that’s assuming Mickey ever even did have feelings, which he most likely didn’t.

Logically, there wasn’t even a reason for it to start in the first place, Mickey didn’t even know what he was doing probably, and Ian was just someone to be used, in the cooler at Kash’s, Mickey doesn’t feel how Ian feels. Like Terry said, too, she fucked the faggot right out of him, he won’t be back. Even though Ian’s pretty sure that counted as rape, maybe Mickey was more into it than Ian would have thought, and now Ian has to deal with the repercussions of getting attached to someone who didn’t get attached back. In between images of Mickey fucking the whore, Ian thinks of the time he took Mickey to that spot under the L, and the time Mickey made him breakfast, but those memories hurt more than the thought of Mickey moving on. Eventually Ian falls asleep, and it isn’t a peaceful slumber, but it’s a welcome break, and he hopes he won’t wake up.


	10. i'll be buried here with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [skulls -bastille](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEASDdR9sq8)

Ian drags him all the way to Lake Michigan, that’s a long fuckin’ bus ride, if you’re wondering, and they stop at a greasy little diner on the way, Ian got a pay raise a few weeks ago so he’s buying, they get onion rings and Ian gets a milkshake, and Mickey finds he doesn’t hate it.

It’s kind of gay, you know, two dudes eating onion rings by the lakeside, but he doesn’t hate it. Helps that virtually no-one he knows would be able to get here anyway, they’re a good deal out of the Southside now, so they’re sitting right on the grassy bank under the shade of some trees, and Mickey sneaks a few sips of Ian’s milkshake whenever he puts it down and looks away, vanilla _of fucking course_ and though he doesn’t say anything, Mickey thinks he knows, because he starts leaving it closer and closer to Mickey’s legs.

Ian tries to grab his hand a few times but Mickey puts a stop to that right away, drags his finger in a line between them to establish a clear fuckin’ boundary, don’t touch me, and Ian smirks but doesn’t push it, for once. Mickey asks if he’s got any pot, and Ian starts digging through his backpack, and they both kind of freeze when something Ian touches squeaks.

Ian looks at Mickey, his big fuckin’ green eyes wide, and pulls out a _rubber fucking chicken_ , starts laughing, and Mickey asks if he’s completely lost his mind. Ian shrugs and says one of his brothers must have stuck it in there, can’t imagine _why_ , but he sets it between them and Mickey looks at it like it’s diseased, and Ian pulls out an old cigar box, opens it to reveal a neat little row of spliffs. Mickey pulls a lighter out of his pocket and ignites one, sucks the smoke in and holds it, passes the joint to Ian before he exhales, and they stay there, kind of peaceful.


	11. the city's feeling queer and crass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [o0Oo0Oo -oberhofer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9P0V_1TlIH8)

They’re sitting in the Gallaghers’ living room, on the old green couch swaddled in afghans; Svetlana told Ian not to come back and fuck if Mickey’s gonna stay somewhere not-Ian-friendly, so he’d packed up his shit and this is where they are; drunk, eating strawberries, and some old ‘70s re-run plays in the background.

Ian’s laughing at one of the running gags Mickey thinks he’d find funny too, if he was paying attention, but he’s captivated by the blue light reflecting off Ian’s glassy eyes, how the pallor of his skin seems to change colours with the different lighting of different scenes, his fuckin’ nose, freckled and pert, his strong jaw line tapering off into pale neck, spotted with Mickey’s hickeys (heh), his mouth – his lips, pulled into a grin, and it’s just his profile but Mickey thinks he never wants this to end, and isn’t _that_ just fuckin’ queer of him?

Ian notices him staring and turns his head, Mickey whips his back around to face the TV, some old geezer directing another old geezer to a chair, what the fuck are they watching anyway, and he sees Ian quirk a smile in his peripheral, he leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Mickey’s mouth and Mickey’s heart speeds up, Ian stands and asks if he’s hungry and Mickey makes a non-committal gesture and Ian walks away.

Mickey feels kind of cold without him pressed against his side but he doesn’t say anything, watches Ian’s backside as he makes his way to the kitchen, and Mickey loses sight of him for a minute, hears the fridge door open and close and Ian comes back holding a leftover turkey encased in saran wrap, Ian peels back the plastic cover and sets it on the table between empty beer cans, rips off a piece of thigh and offers it to Mickey who tells him hotly he can get his own fuckin’ turkey, thanks, and pulls off a bigger piece, a piece with bone in it and he chews around the bone, and when he’s holding the greasy twig-like cartilage Ian laughs and Mickey turns to him, the fuck do you want, and Ian tells him it’s the wish bone, you’re supposed to snap it and whoever’s holding the bigger piece gets their wish granted.

Mickey tells him that’s fuckin’ stupid but Ian pressures him to make a wish so he does, but he doesn’t say what it is out loud, and Ian grabs hold of the other half of the bone and they pull, and Ian gets the bigger piece and that doesn’t surprise Mickey, really, and Ian drunkenly giggles a little and Mickey asks what he wished for and Ian tells him just this, right now, and he climbs into Mickey’s lap and they’re making out, pressed together forehead-to-groin, before Mickey can say that’s what he wished for, too.


	12. the shadows of each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the great escape -woodkid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ni_St8LGNcc)

It’s this huge old house by the park, abandoned for years and usually there are some squatters, but there’s no-one here today so they’re exploring it, like they’re kids again. None of the lights work, there’s no running water or heat, and most of the wallpaper’s torn up or graffiti’d, and it’s kind of nice.

Ian finds this big old chest in a corner, shut with a padlock, so Mickey finds him an old piece of pipe and is happy to watch Ian’s biceps flex when he brings the pipe down, hard, on the lock and smashes it open. Ian kneels and Mickey comes to stand behind him, watches him pry open the lid, it looks heavy, and inside is a collection of blankets, ancient fleece and moth-eaten cotton.

Thunder rumbles outside and Ian looks through a window, there’s cardboard in one of the spaces between grilles where the glass is missing, Ian says it looks like rain and Mickey thinks this is all very cliché, Ian grabs two of the blankets and heads up the creaky stairs, and Mickey follows him, Mickey thinks he’ll always follow him.

The upper floor has huge windows, it’s more windows than wall, really, and Ian selects a spot on the floor facing big planes of glass and he sits, tugs Mickey down next to him and Mickey grumbles and shoots him a glare, _don’t pull me around_ , and Ian wraps the blankets around them, stretching from Mickey’s left shoulder to Ian’s right, and suddenly they’re cocooned and a little bit warmer than they were, and it starts to pour.

It’s loud, and Mickey realizes it’s hailing, he almost can’t see outside with how thickly the sheets of ice are falling, Ian huffs a quiet laugh and Mickey turns to look at him, watches Ian watching the sky, how his green eyes glitter, reflecting the hail, and his pale skin is even whiter with the chill, and Mickey thinks he’s kind of pretty, though he’d rather break his own back before ever saying that out loud.

Ian peers at him from the corner of his eye and asks him what he’s looking at, and Mickey tells him he’s got the ugliest mug Mickey’s ever seen, and Ian laughs. Mickey doesn’t really have to say what he’s thinking for Ian to get it. Ian, sneaky, wraps his big hand around Mickey’s before he can say a word, and Mickey turns his wrist to press their palms together, twines their fingers together, and he sees the smile Ian tries to hide between his knees. Mickey rolls his eyes and they’re quiet, still, watching the storm.


	13. you're still here in the morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [drink you away -justin timberlake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwPLmiwf9fM)

They’re at the Alibi, Mickey’s on his fourth beer and Ian’s on his third, they’ve got a little booth in the back, in one of the darker corners, and they’re not saying much, just watching the other patrons, and sometimes each other, when they think they can get away with it.

Some stupid Justin Timberlake song comes on the radio Kevin has playing, and Mickey doesn’t care either way but Ian kind of huffs a laugh into the neck of the bottle he’s sipping from, mumbles along and Mickey didn’t even know Ian sang, and Jess comes over to collect their empty bottles and she shoots Ian an amused, maybe a little in-on-the-joke look, and Ian resolutely doesn’t meet her eyes. Mickey doesn’t care, really.

Kevin starts grooving behind the bar, rolls his hips and he looks ridiculous, this big man-bear in an extra-extra-extra-large shirt and an apron, mouthing the words to the song and swabbing clean a glass, and one of the Russian whores, Sasha or Sonya or something, starts a little dance with one of the other drunks, and Ian’s still mumbling along, eyes glassy and half-shut and Mickey’s a little curious now, pays closer attention to the lyrics, something about love and drinking which seems, he guesses, apt.

Ian meets his eyes and says very clearly that he’s going to the bathroom and he’d sure hate if someone walked in on him, and he stumbles away. Mickey stares at the half-empty bottle Ian left on the table with wide eyes, looks around the bar but no-one’s paying attention to anything, kind of in their own bubbles swaying or singing along to the radio, so Mickey slinks along the wall to the hallway housing the bathrooms, finds the closed door with the silhouette of a man on it, knocks, and Ian opens it and whisks him inside, shutting the door behind them and it’s pitch-black, neither of them bothered to turn on a light, and Mickey’s back digs into what he thinks is a dirty sink, Ian pressed along his front, licking up Mickey’s neck, seeking out his mouth, and Mickey’s more than happy to reciprocate, and they’re making out in the dark of the bathroom of Kev’s bar, checking off cliché after cliché.

Ian doesn’t let him go, Mickey’s kind of hard now, grinding up against him, and Ian groans into his mouth, which Mickey feels more than hears, it vibrates around his tongue and he swallows it, rolling his hips against Ian, standing on the balls of his feet to snake his fingers more firmly into Ian’s short hair, try to tangle it, tugging, and Ian’s big hands come up underneath Mickey’s shirt, burning through the skin of his stomach, and Mickey wants to be wrapped up in Ian, wrapped around him.

Ian starts to pull back, presses a chaste kiss to Mickey’s slack lips, and he’s gone, slipped out the door and back to the parlor of the bar, leaving Mickey hot and sore in pants that have quickly become too small, tasting Ian on his tongue, where he’d found his way to burrow behind his teeth, and Mickey gives himself to the last strum of the guitar of whatever’s playing to calm himself down and he takes his seat across a smirking Ian, signals to Jess for some shots, and plans his revenge for the next time they’re home alone, and it should bother him that he thinks of Ian’s house as home, but it doesn’t really come as a surprise, it just feels right.


	14. the stillness is a burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings for general mental health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [infinity --the xx](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c0dzHw4tyhU)

Ian’s been lying in bed for a few days now, not thinking about anything in particular, just staring at the wall, and he feels pretty empty. Like he doesn’t have any bones or nerves or organs in his body, it’s just a carcass, made of lead so he can’t get up.

Carl comes in a few times, asks if he’s seen his brass knuckles, or his bat, or the left-over fireworks, and Ian mostly ignores him or tells him to fuck off. Debbie comes in once to ask his opinion of a dress she wants to wear to impress some poor new shmuck, and Ian doesn’t even turn around to check her out.

Lip shakes his shoulder some time –-hours or months-- later, tells him there’s someone at the door for him, and Ian mumbles that he can’t get up right now, they can come up here or come back later, and Lip leaves quietly, and Ian’s alone again, until there’s a soft knock on the door and Ian doesn’t reply, doesn’t know who the fuck would bother paying him a visit, just stares at the wall, and then there’s pressure on his shoulder, like someone’s leaning on it, and a shock of dark hair creeps up in his peripheral, and Ian closes his eyes because he can’t deal with this right now, and he burrows his face deeper into the pillow, and a hand traces his jaw and Ian starts to quiver, a little, cracks open one eye and sees a familiar ‘F’ tattooed on a pinky finger and shuts his eye closed before he catches sight of the body attached to the ink.

“Ian,” comes his voice, “hey, shithead, what the fuck’s going on?” Ian shakes his head, wants to burrow deeper into his blankets but he just doesn’t have the energy.

Mickey sighs behind him and climbs onto the bed, swinging a leg around each side of Ian’s hip, digs under the covers for Ian’s hand and holds it tightly in his own, and asks again: “Ian, what’s going on?”

Ian can’t answer, can’t muster up the strength to even mutter a one-word response, just squeezes his eyes shut tighter and tries to hold his breath, he could die maybe, suffocate and get release, and Mickey says “no, Ian, what the fuck?” when he hasn’t exhaled in almost a minute, Mickey pushes sharply on Ian’s chest and forces him to huff, suck in new oxygen, and Mickey tips over to lay between Ian and the wall, they’re pressed right together, if Ian opened his eyes he’d be looking right into Mickey’s, their hearts beat against each other almost in tandem and he can feel Mickey’s breath on his chin and he’s still holding his hand, and Mickey says “this is super fucking gay, just tell me what’s wrong,” and Ian can’t even laugh, doesn’t have the energy to tell him what’s wrong, doesn’t even know what’s wrong, really.

The room quiets save the sound of their breathing, and they lay together for – well, Ian doesn’t know how long exactly, but it’s starting to get dark outside, and Ian opens his eyes a little, looks at Mickey through half-shut lids, and Mickey looks right back at him, his eyes so blue, and they lay together for a while more, just looking at each other, until Ian heaves a big breath and says “I think there’s something wrong with me,” and his voice cracks, and Mickey blinks and says “I coulda told you that,” his mouth half-turned up, and Ian’s not joking so he doesn’t smile back, and Mickey’s smile fades and he says, “okay, well, we'll figure it out, you know we will.”

Ian closes his eyes, shuffles a little closer to Mickey, tucks his head under his chin, breathes in the sweat on Mickey’s collarbone, and they’re quiet for a while longer yet.


	15. get punched for the love club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the love club -lorde](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfjLLTmv9T8)

They’re lying in the middle of a dead-end road, it’s a little after two in the morning, and they’re not saying much.

Mickey thinks Ian might be his soul-mate, but he also thinks the pot might be doing most of his thinking.

He turns his head to the left, looks at Ian, who’s looking at the sky with a little smile on his face, and Mickey asks him what he’s thinking about.

Ian shrugs, which is kind of hard to see in the dark while he’s lying on his back, and Mickey presses: c’mon what are you thinking about what are you thinking about?

Ian struggles, pressing his palms to the cold concrete and heaving himself into a sitting position, and looks down at Mickey, asks him: what are you thinking about?

Mickey doesn’t even hesitate before answering: I think you’re my soul-mate.

Ian stares at him, who knows how much time passes, seconds or years, before his face stretches into a sweet grin, and he leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Mickey’s lips, mumbles against them: I think you’re my soul-mate too.

Mickey doesn’t have anything else to say after that, so they kiss for a while, slow and gentle, and when Ian lies back down, he tucks his head between Mickey’s shoulder and neck, and they stay there, maybe they sleep or maybe they just day-dream, and it’s nice, it’s really nice.


	16. we both get carried away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [when your heart stops beating -+44](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YghhcQCPT80)

It’s a bumpy ride, Mickey sways a little with it, the L screeches along the tracks and Mickey looks around, the car’s almost empty, there’s one young blonde girl with a blonder toddler holding a sticky doll, an old man in a beret reading a newspaper dated a few months back, and a middle-aged white trash woman sitting next to a few grocery bags.

Mickey looks at his lap, at the flowers he’s holding, he’s got fuckin’ begonias, two that look like vaginas, a few hibiscus, and _Columbiana asters_ , he knows this from the overly-helpful florist, he’d said “I just need flowers. I don’t know what the fuck kind,” and she’d whisked him around the store and his head had ached with all the different fragrances, and she told him to pick one of the pre-arranged bouquets and he picked one with lots of orange, and she’d named them all, he paid with a $20 bill, she said they were on sale, and he said keep the change and practically ran out. Mickey Milkovich was not the sort to hang out in flower shops longer than absolutely necessary.

Now here he sat, at the back of a near-vacant car, on his way back to the Southside. They’re for Ian, the flowers, and Mickey really doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, or why he’s doing it. He’d never bought flowers for any of the girls he’d fucked, doesn’t know why it’s so different with Ian, or why just thinking about the redhead makes him kind of excited.

The loudspeaker announces the stop Mickey needs so he stands, and the teenager with the kid smiles at him and he doesn’t smile back, saunters off the L, down the stairs, and starts the walk to the Gallaghers’. It’s not cold out, it’s getting dark but it’s still warm, so he doesn’t hurry, avoids the glances of everyone he knows, cuts down alleys and back-streets to try and hide from public gaze, and before he’s totally prepared with what he’ll say he’s standing at the old metal gate surrounding the Gallaghers’ property. He sends a silent prayer that Lip won’t open the door and jogs up to the porch, knocks loudly, and waits.

He thanks his lucky stars when he sees red hair through the window at the top of the door and Ian swings it open, smiling, and Mickey smiles back a little, Ian says “hey” and Mickey says “hey” and they just kind of look at each other until Mickey pushes his way inside, they’re cut off from the rest of the house by another door and Mickey looks at Ian.

Ian looks back with one eyebrow raised, and he’s about to say something but Mickey cuts him off, brings the flowers from behind his back and shoves them at Ian’s chest and Ian turns bright red, asks “what?” and Mickey just shrugs, looks at his shoes, says “there’s fuckin’ _Columbiana asters,_ ” and Ian grins and pushes Mickey against the wall, closes the front door with his foot, and presses thank-you kisses all over Mickey’s face, and Mickey wants to be grossed out and angry but he just has butterflies, the good kind, like something freed up all this space in his heart for Ian and he thinks, that’s okay.


	17. safety pins holding up the things that make you mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [shine on -the kooks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9NB_V3quFkw)

One thing most people wouldn’t think to guess is that Mickey _loves_ crossword puzzles. Could spend hours upon hours solving them.

Ian knows this only because he snuck into the Milkovich kitchen while Mickey was at one, and at first he doesn’t really know what he’s looking at – does Mickey even know how to read? And if he does, why would he waste his time on word puzzles?

Ian creeps up behind him and snakes his arms around Mickey’s head, covers his eyes with his hands and whispers: guess who?

Mickey jumps in his seat, swears at him, and tries to shove the book of crosswords under some old newspapers littering the table but Ian reaches out and grabs it out of Mickey’s hands, investigating, asks him why the hell he’s doing something like this.

Mickey replies: what, instead of shooting up the town? Think I’m doing everyone a favour, Gallagher, by staying inside and minding my own goddamn business – which _you_ are not doing.

Ian giggles kind of, leafs through the solved pages, and looks at Mickey with what he hopes is an un-judgmental expression, asks him: _really_ Mickey, I’m not being mean, why are you solving these?

Mickey shrugs, grabs the book back, picks at the back of his hand, says: I like ‘em, finding the answers to stupid fucking questions that don’t matter, and I’m goddamn _good_ at it, so what’s it to you?

Ian quirks a half-smile and presses a quick kiss to Mickey’s cheek, says: okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all i have written up to this point! i want to write more but i have a terrible case of negligence-to-start plus quitter syndrome so if you have any song or mini-plot suggestions, please pester me and ill certainly take em into consideration :)  
> ty for readin!


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